More Than Bargained For
by Flygirl wannabe
Summary: A night out for Ziva causes complications and a situation at NCIS. Ziva-centric, with Tiva.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Don't own a thing.

This is set at least after Tony's whole thing with Jeanne and Ziva is still hurt by it. Jenny's still around as the Director. This is going to be very Ziva-centric.

* * *

The night was lonely for Ziva; a Friday, with Tony on one of his dates with a new blonde bimbo, Tim and Abby going to the movies, and Gibbs probably drinking a bottle of bourbon while working on his boat. Ziva's decision to visit one of the bars near her apartment was spurred partly from boredom and partly because a comment from Tony regarding her lack of a social life had stung. So she found herself wandering into the Dublin House Bar in the early evening and wandering out again several hours and drinks later, on the arm of a tall, dark-haired man.

* * *

Saturday morning found Ziva squinting in the early-morning sun and alone in her bed. Not that she had expected her one-night stand to stick around, it might have been nice to at least get his name. She glanced at the clock on her nightstand: 7:07 am. She never slept in past 5 am. Based on that, the pounding in her head, and the nausea she felt rolling in her stomach, she must have had quite a lot to drink the previous night. This was quite out of character for her and she was thankful that at least it was Saturday, so Tony would not see her like this, as she curled up into the fetal position and shut her eyes. The thought did not last long, when her phone started vibrating. She groaned when she read the caller-ID: Gibbs. Sitting up slightly, she tried to put some composure into her voice.

"David."

"Ziva, where the hell have you been?" Gibb's gruff voice sounded over the line. "Gear up, we've got a dead Navy officer in Rock Creek Park. Tony and McGee are already on their way to pick you up."

Ziva sighed. This was not how she wanted to spend the rest of her Saturday morning, not when she felt as terrible as she did now. But dutifully she replied, "Yes, Gibbs."

* * *

By the time Tony and McGee arrived twenty minutes later, Ziva had showered, changed, and tried to eat breakfast, only to have it make a reappearance a few minutes later. Despite her best efforts, Ziva could not hide her haggard appearance and blood-shot eyes, as she opened the back door of the Charger Tony was driving.

Tony was his usual self that morning. "Damn, Ziva, you look like crap."

"How very observant of you, Tony." Ziva sat in the back and buckled in, while giving Tony one of her annoyed looks. "I think I have an overhang."

Tony finally started driving toward their crime scene, glancing at Ziva in the rear-view mirror. Tim moved around in his seat to get a good look at Ziva; he gave her a sympathetic smile.

"I think you mean you have a hangover, Ziva."

"Yes, that's it, a hangover. Whatever, I feel like crap."

"You're not going to puke are you?" Tony asked from the driver's seat. The look on his face telling everyone he was slightly disgusted at the thought.

"I do not believe…blaaagh!" What was left of whatever was in Ziva's stomach was now all splattered over her boots and the back foot well. Tony winced, but kept his eyes on the road, while Tim turned away completely from the sound of Ziva's vomiting. When she had finished, Tim looked back to find a very unconscious Ziva slumped against the back seat.

* * *

Gibbs looked up from his examination of the deceased Naval officer to see the dark blue Charger carrying his agents come to a screeching halt next to the ME's van. He didn't think they'd ever arrived at a crime scene so quickly; Ziva must be driving, he thought. A slight grin formed on his face, as Gibbs expected Tony and McGee to come tumbling out of the car complaining of Ziva's particularly aggressive driving style. The grin was wiped off his face when DiNozzo poured out of the driver's seat and McGee was opening the back of the car, quickly scooping up an unconscious Ziva in his arms.

"Ducky!" Tony yelled frantically, in Gibbs and Ducky's general direction. Gibbs quickly abandoned the body of the Naval officer, in a quick sprint for the parking lot; Ducky hot on his heels. As the pair crested the small hill that brought them to the parking lot, McGee had already laid Ziva out on the pavement, Ducky rushing to begin an examination of their colleague.

Gibbs quickly rounded on his senior field agent, who looked like someone had slapped him across the face. "What the hell happened, DiNozzo?"

"I don't know, boss. Probie and I picked Ziva up at her apartment like you asked; she looked like crap, but said it was just a hangover. Next thing I know, she's puking in the back seat and then unconscious. We got here as fast as we could."

Before Gibbs or Tony could say anything more, Dr. Mallard interrupted the two by barking orders to the agents milling around. "Mr. Palmer, grab my kit from the truck and a blanket." Gibbs got his first good look at his officer lying prone on the ground; her skin was pale and sweaty and bits of vomit clung to her chin and the front of her clothes. Ducky continued speaking, but in a more hushed tone, "Jethro, I'll have to get Abby to do a tox-screen to be sure, but I think she's been drugged."

* * *

The first thing Ziva became aware of when she came to was a slight chill to the air and the coolness of hard metal under her fingers. When she finally opened her eyes, she groaned under the harsh florescent lights of autopsy. With a gasp, she threw herself up onto her forearms and quickly swung her feet over the side of one of Ducky's autopsy tables. Seeing that she was awake, Ducky wandered over to Ziva from his desk.

"Ah, you're awake, my dear. You had your teammates a bit worried for awhile." Seeing that Ziva was looking at her current attire of a NCIS blue jumpsuit and only her socks on her feet, Ducky continued, "Ah, I took the liberty of removing your boots and clothing, since they were well-soiled. And don't worry, my dear, I took great care in preserving your dignity in front of your co-workers. Jethro thought you would prefer my care to that of going to the hospital."

"Thank you, Dr. Mallard." Regaining some semblance of her normal self, Ziva made to get off of the autopsy table, before Ducky stopped her by placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Ah, ah, ah. Jethro made me promise to keep you down here until he got back. He would like to know how Abby found drugs in your system, Rohypnol to be exact." Just then, the doors to autopsy opened to reveal a seriously pissed-off Gibbs. Seeing Jethro's hard-set expression and subtle nod toward the door, the aging medical examiner made excuses and quickly left the room. The doors to autopsy hissed shut behind the doctor's departure before Gibbs looked Ziva squarely in the eye, a note of concern touching his face. Seeing that she was not going to start this conversation, Gibbs took the lead.

"What's going on Ziva? What happened last night?"

Sitting on a metal autopsy table, with just a jumpsuit and her socks, her feet dangling off the side, Ziva felt incredibly vulnerable under Gibbs' stare. It was the same look he usually reserved for suspects and now he had turned it on her. She wanted to squirm and run away, but there was not much to do when your boss was interrogating you in a deserted autopsy suite. Ziva quickly decided that she had to just tell him the truth, regardless of his judgment of her. Taking a deep breath, and letting her shoulders sag a little under her exhaustion, she finally met Gibbs' steely gaze.

"I went out last night…to a bar."

"Which bar?"

"The Dublin House. It is near my apartment, on the corner of 5th and Jackson."

"Why?"

Ziva's cheeks colored a lit in embarrassment before rolling her eyes and looking toward the ceiling. "I believe Tony would call it 'getting a life,' yes?" She paused before meeting his gaze again; his eyes told her that he thought there was more to it than that. She ground her teeth a bit before continuing, "Fine. I was bored and maybe a little bit lonely. Tony's always got his dates, Abby and McGee have each other, and you," she threw one hand haphazardly in his general direction, "you have your boat. Lately, I have had no one."

Gibbs took this all in, his inklings of Ziva's caring for Tony all but confirmed by her last statement. She felt she had lost Tony, when she found out about Jeanne Benoit. Gibbs could hardly blame her for that, but he pressed forward.

"What happened once you arrived at the bar?"

"I had a few drinks; I socialized with some people in the bar." She was having difficulty remembering much of the night, but she would tell Gibbs all she could remember. Her cheeks turned rosy again in embarrassment and humiliation as she relayed the next part of the night, "I left the bar around 3 am, maybe closer to four, with a man, maybe mid-thirties, maybe younger. He had dark hair, clean-cut," Ziva closed her eyes, trying to remember, "a darker skin tone, a prominent nose, brown or perhaps hazel eye color."

"This guy have a name?"

Ziva ran a hand through her long, dark curls before answering, "I…I don't know. Everything is so blurry. I don't know if I just never got his name or if I can't remember it." She started staring off into space, before Gibbs prompted her to continue.

"What happened next?" Gibbs' tone had moved toward being detached rather than angry and Ziva almost thought she would have rather been confronted by an angry Gibbs, instead of this almost sympathy.

"I brought him back to my apartment; the walk is only a few blocks. I did not feel intoxicated. I remember opening the door to my apartment and letting him in. His hands were on my skin and he was kissing my neck." Almost absentmindedly, Ziva's hand moved to rub her left arm.

Gibbs noticed the gesture. "Ducky found a puncture mark on your left arm," Gibbs said slowly. "He thinks that was how you were drugged."

"I know we had sex, but I don't really remember it," Ziva finally looked her boss in the eyes again. "It would have been consensual, so why drug me? How could I let this happen, Gibbs?" Some of her normal spark was back in Ziva's eyes, as well as a good amount of anger. The anger quickly dissipated and quickly turned into self-loathing. "America has made me soft," she whispered quietly, but loud enough that Gibbs heard it.

A quick head-slap brought Ziva out of her self-pity. Gibbs brought his face very close to hers, so she would be forced to look him in the eye. "Hey, you do not get to blame yourself for this! Yes, you were stupid, but you're human, you're not a machine, Ziva." Gibbs raised voice and tone brooked no argument. "So, if you're done with your little pity-party, I suggest we try to do something about this."

Ziva tried to muffle a snort of indignation. "Like what Gibbs? That man is probably smart enough not to go back to the bar and I've already taken a shower, so DNA is out of the question. Somehow I doubt he just left his name and address lying around my apartment."

Gibbs looked his officer square in the eye, and asked, "Are you done?" Receiving a nod and a somewhat chastised look from Ziva, he continued, "Good, because I've got Tony and McGee dusting your apartment for prints as we speak. Now, let's get out of here, unless you like hanging out with dead people?" Gibbs turned and left autopsy. For the first time that morning, Ziva noticed the Naval officer from the park laid out two tables down from her and quickly moved to follow Gibbs back to the squad room.

* * *

A few months passed after the "incident," as Ziva thought of it. The first few weeks were spent trying to find the man who had drugged her, but they quickly came up empty and new cases sucked up the team's time. Only Gibbs knew the whole story. Although Ducky must have suspected something when she was in his care, he had the grace to keep his suspicions to himself. When the team finally quit trying to find the man, Ziva was grateful to move on, since she thought of the event as showcasing a personal weakness. She seemed more detached and unemotional than usual, but Gibbs could tell from her eyes that Ziva was still hurting and more than slightly embarrassed over the incident; she put up her tough Mossad officer exterior and pretended to have moved on.

Since their emotional discussion in the bowels of NCIS, Gibbs and Ziva had not discussed the event on anything other than a professional level, as if it were just another case. Soon everyone practically had forgotten about that night or at least seemed to have pushed it to the backs of their minds. Tony started teasing and flirting with Ziva again, McGee stopped stumbling over himself when he was around her, and Abby, well she was just still Abby. Gibbs was glad that his team had come back to some sort of normalcy; Ziva did not take kindly to being treated with kid gloves and Gibbs could tell she had almost reached her boiling point with the extra care and sensitivity that her teammates were showing to her.

Gibbs watched his team from veiled eyes hidden behind his coffee cup, as they each packed up for the evening. They had caught a late case; a Marine Corps intelligence officer, Major Charles Lincoln, found dead in his car. The team had worked through most of the night collecting statements and evidence; the Marine's personal computers and hard drives were currently locked in the evidence locker pending processing by McGee, while the Marine's body lay in autopsy awaiting Ducky's care.

Tony and Ziva departed first. Judging by Tony's affronted look, Ziva had just insulted him in some way. A slightly harsh, "McGee," from Gibbs, and a suggestive look toward the elevator sent Tim on his way home for the night. That left only Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs sitting in his bullpen, a thoughtful and pensive look on his face. His gut was telling him there was something more to this case than just a dead Marine, but for the life of him, he couldn't put his finger on what.

* * *

The next morning found Gibbs at his desk, bright and early, Starbucks coffee cup in hand. Tony came in soon after 7 am, even though Gibbs had told all of his team not to arrive any time before eight. Tony could hardly help it though; he had the feeling that they were missing something and one look at Gibbs told him that his boss was getting that same nagging sensation in his gut.

Tony glanced over to Ziva's empty desk, surprised to not see her sitting behind her computer. Most days she beat him into the office by a few hours. He shrugged mentally to himself; maybe for once she was following Gibbs' orders to actually stay away from work, rather than showing up at 0500 sharp.

* * *

With a squeal of tires, Ziva slid her red Mini Cooper into a tight parking spot on the lowest level of NCIS's underground parking complex. With a little chagrin, she noted to herself that coming in early and beating the crowd definitely had its advantages; most days she was just a flight of stairs away from the bullpen. Today however, running late as she was and that was even after she had planned to come in at eight like Gibbs' had said, she was parked in a far corner of the lot deep under the building that housed the headquarters for NCIS, as well as several other Navy agencies. A few more stairs really didn't bother her that much, though, so she called out quickly for the man just entering the staircase to hold the door, his back and a large bag slung over his shoulder toward her.

Ziva juggled a box of files and the remnants of her McDonald's drive-thru breakfast in her arms as she jogged for the door that was being held open for her. As she squeezed through the opening and got a handle on her things, she glanced back at the man holding the door, a thank-you on her lips. One look was all it took to job Ziva's memory to that night a few months prior; the dark hair, dark eyes, prominent nose. She knew it was him and from the self-satisfied look on his face, he recognized her as well.

With what she was carrying forgotten, files dropped through the air and scattered at Ziva's feet as she went for the weapon at her side. He was faster, however, and the silenced weapon made hardly a sound as the man easily put a bullet into Ziva's right leg before she could draw her gun up to fire. With a grunt, Ziva staggered backwards a step before regaining her bearing.

"Put your weapon down," the man ordered, his gun now squarely pointed at Ziva's face.

With little choice, Ziva threw her gun aside. The man closed the few steps between them, a smirk on his face, "Who knew it would be so easy to subdue you…again?"

When he had moved in close enough, Ziva took her chance, slapping her right hand to the inside of her assailant's wrist, while using her left hand to hit against the back of his right palm. She ducked her head out of the way, as he instinctively pulled back on the trigger. Before he knew what had happened, the man's gun was out of his hand and he was stumbling backward from a blow Ziva delivered to his throat. As he choked, Ziva quickly followed up by thrusting the heel of her palm into his nose, blood swiftly gushing out.

The man impulsively reached up to hold his bleeding face, staggering blindly until his back reached the far wall of the bottom of the staircase. Ziva quickly made to deliver another blow, this time a left hook headed towards the man's face. Before her fist could reach its destination, however, the man had recovered enough to lock Ziva's incoming arm with his and twist. With a howl of pain, Ziva's back arched as she heard and felt the bones in her elbow snap. In desperation, as her attacker held her by her now broken arm, Ziva reached behind her back to the knife she kept hidden there.

Her fingers wrapped around the worn, black leather handle and with a shout of effort, she used all of the strength left in her to push off her wounded leg and round on the man. White-hot pain shot through her arm, as Ziva swung around, trying to lodge her knife in the man's abdomen. Shock registered on his face as Ziva turned, metal glinting in the harsh florescent lights of the stairwell. He barely had enough time to get out of the way, but even then it was not enough. He released his grip on Ziva as her knife plunged into his side, missing its mark, but doing its job nonetheless.

Ziva crumpled to the ground, her leg having given out on her and her arm sending breaking waves of pain shooting through her. With her heart beating nearly out of her chest, she started crawling back toward her gun, lying on the floor a few feet away. As her slender fingers made contact with the pistol grip, a booted foot made contact with her hand. In that moment, Ziva knew she had lost this fight. She looked up the booted foot crushing her hand to the body attached to it and the last thing she saw was the other boot coming toward her face before everything turned black.

The whole fight had lasted less than a minute and the dark-haired man had been left with a broken nose and a stab wound to his left side. Neither was life-threatening, but more of an annoyance. He'd make Ziva pay. Hell, he already had. He swiftly rolled Ziva's unconscious form over onto her back, her left arm lying at an odd angle away from her body. He picked up his own weapon and put it back into his coat before grabbing Ziva's own weapon and putting it into his belt. He tossed his bag back over his shoulder and grabbed Ziva by her uninjured arm and slung her like a rag-doll over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.

Checking that no one was in the parking garage, he swiftly stepped out into the open and called up the elevator located near the stairwell. With his hand on Ziva's gun in case of unwanted company, he waited for the doors to open and stepped inside when they did. He relieved himself of his burdens by dumping Ziva against one wall, her body completely limp in her unconscious state, and setting down his duffel against the opposite wall. As the doors closed, the man punched in the level for MTAC and the director's office, waiting for the car to start moving before hitting the emergency stop.

The lights dimmed in the car. The man silently moved to his bag, zipped it open, and pulled out a flak vest rigged with explosives. For the moment he set this aside, however, and sat with his back against the elevator wall. He gingerly felt the area around Ziva's knife and determining that it probably wasn't attached to anything vital, grasped the handle and pulled. With a small whimper and a grimace on his face, the man pulled off strips of his jacket for make-shift bandages. That done, he cautiously felt around his nose. Yes, it was definitely broken; with a grunt it was reset. He wiped the blood off his face with his sleeve.

Then he moved to Ziva, she was still out cold. He frisked her for weapons, finding another small pistol on her ankle and her handcuffs, he relieved her of them. Next he strapped the explosive vest around Ziva's chest, delicately connecting all the leads, and finally pulling out a dead-man's switch from his bag and activating the vest.

With one last double-check, he looked at Ziva's slack face and grinned to himself, "Hmm, as these Americans like to say, 'It's show time.'"

* * *

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	2. Chapter 2

Yeah, I'm going to beat up on Ziva a bit more. Sorry, but not really.

Part 2

Gibbs and Tony each sat at their desks working the Lincoln case. McGee had come in and quickly gone down to Abby's lab to start cracking the Major's home computer drives, while Gibbs worked on getting him access to Lincoln's military computer, located on the Navy Yard just across from NCIS. Lincoln's boss, Admiral McMannaway, the head of Naval Intelligence, was adamant that NCIS not have access to the Major's classified material. Gibbs was still on the phone with McMannaway when the elevator on the catwalk opened. The otherwise quiet morning was soon to become disastrous.

* * *

The first thing Ziva became aware of when she came to was pain and the taste of copper in her mouth. Her head throbbed and her left arm hung useless at her side, while her right leg was seeping blood from the bullet wound. Ziva took a few seconds to assess her situation and realize that she was currently being dragged across the catwalk by the collar of a flak vest wired with explosives. She looked up at the face attached to the arm in front of her and Ziva saw the man whose face she dreaded seeing. Ziva quickly began struggling to slow the man down from wherever he was taking her.

Finding her voice, she saw her boss on the phone in the bullpen, and yelled as loudly as she could muster, "Gibbs!"

* * *

Gibbs had never heard such panic in Ziva's voice when she called out to him from the balcony. He looked up in time to see a left hook impact her face and her head loll back. He was on his feet, weapon in hand, with Tony following close behind him, before the man had reached the director's outer office doors. Gibbs had seen the explosives and was yelling orders to passing agents as he took the stairs two and three at a time. The formally calm NCIS office erupted into organized chaos as agents rushed to evacuate the building and employ bomb threat protocols.

* * *

Cynthia looked up from her paperwork when the door leading from the hallway opened to reveal Officer David unconscious with a bomb vest strapped to her. The man holding her up clearly had the detonator in his left hand.

"Open the door and walk inside," the man said, indicating the Director's office. When Cynthia hesitated to respond, he repeated himself, his voice calm and collected, but carrying a dangerous edge, "Open the door. Now."

Cynthia quickly wiped the shocked look off her face and promptly opened the door to Director Shepard's office. She silently held the door open, as the man entered the room and tossed Ziva to the floor. He pulled Ziva' s Jericho from his belt and pointed it at the people sitting conference table. The Director sat at the far end of the table, surrounded by three new young agents.

"Close the door and lock it," the man said in a low voice to Cynthia. The secretary looked to her boss for guidance. Jenny rose to feet and quickly assessed the situation. She locked eyes with Cynthia and gave a quick nod of her head to silently tell her that she should do as the man said.

As Cynthia moved to the doors, the Director found her voice, "What is the meaning of this?"

"I do not believe it is you who should be asking the questions, Director Shepard. Or may I call you Jenny? I think I shall call you Jenny, since we will be spending the next few hours together." The man cocked his head to side suddenly and raised his voice to be heard in the hallway, "Agent Gibbs, I know you and Agent DiNozzo are just outside the doors. If you value the lives of everyone in this room, you will go back into the hallway and not interrupt us or I will blow us all the way to kingdom come!" His voice returned to a more civil level when he turned back to Jenny, "Now, where were we? Ah, yes, how we are going to be spending the next few hours together."

* * *

In the hallway, Gibbs silently motioned for himself and Tony to go back out to the catwalk, where they could talk freely. Tony gave his boss a look that said he wasn't leaving, but he finally relented under one of Gibbs' withering stares and a jerk of his head. Grinding his teeth a bit and clearly telling Gibbs with his body language that he was not happy, Tony finally moved out into the hallway, Gibbs following close behind.

Tony was first to speak, as the doors to the Director's outer office shut, "Boss, we can't just leave. We have no idea what's going on in there or what he's going to do. What the hell happened to Rule #2, 'Never screw over your partner!' That madman's got Ziva in there and she's hurt, we gotta do…." A slap to the back of the head quickly shut DiNozzo up from his ranting and Gibbs moved in on him.

"What do you think we're doing, DiNozzo, having tea and biscuits?" Tony quickly shrank back from Gibbs' intense gaze. "Now, go find McGee, and we'll figure something out. We're not abandoning them. The Director's in there too, you know."

Tony quickly ran a hand through his hair, his anger dissipating. He gave Gibbs a quick, "Got it, boss," before he was on his way to find McGee. As Tony practically jumped down the stairs, Gibbs moved to the railing of the catwalk, and looked over the bullpen. In only a few minutes time, the place had been deserted, save for a few of the more hardened senior agents, who had stuck around to ensure everyone got out of the building and that everything was locked down.

"Gibbs!" One of the other team leaders, Special Agent Sara Harrigan, called up to him, "Everybody's out of the building and the MPs have been called, they're sending over the DC SWAT team and clearing the Navy Yard. Let me know if you need anything else."

"Actually, could you go make sure Abby's left her lab and that Ducky's out? I don't want them here if anything goes wrong."

"Yeah, no problem Gibbs." As soon as he saw Harrigan enter the stairwell to go down to Abby's lab, Gibbs' thoughts turned back to the events at hand. He had no idea how this was going to turn out. While he waited for Tony to return with McGee, he had the brief thought that his gut was still as accurate as ever.

* * *

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	3. Chapter 3

Part 3

Director Shepard stood her ground at the head of the conference table. As Cynthia was busy securing the doors to her office, Jenny briefly glanced at each of the three agents sitting at the table. Each was just out of FLETC and she had been giving them a welcome briefing to NCIS headquarters, where each of them was to be assigned. Being held at gun-, and she supposed bomb-, point was probably not what each of them had in mind for their first day at work.

"Now, each of you, please remove your jackets and any weapons you have on you." The man still had Ziva's weapon pointed directly at Jenny. Taking their cues from the Director, each of the brand new agents removed their jackets and weapons, placing both on the table. "Cynthia…it is Cynthia, isn't it? Please secure these around Jenny's and each of these young men's hands and feet." He tossed the secretary a bundle of zip ties. "Make sure that they are nice and tight, I don't want anyone making a fuss for me later. If you all would, you can go sit against that wall." Pointing with the Jericho, he indicated the yellow-coated wall to the left of the Director's desk.

With apologies written across her face and in her eyes, Cynthia bound each of the agent's hands and feet with the zip ties. When she was done, the man tossed her a pair of handcuffs, to which she turned a slightly confused and anxious look. "For Ziva. They are hers after all. I'm sure when she wakes up , she will appreciate the irony of being secured by her own handcuffs and held at gunpoint by her own weapon," the man explained, a sick little smile on his lips. "You may call me Nigel, by the way. I had a professor once by the name of Nigel; a good man."

Nigel moved over to the conference table and placing Ziva's Jericho back in his belt, he collected all of the weapons laid out there. When he turned back around, Cynthia had yet to handcuff the unconscious Ziva. He gave her a small smile, as he walked over to Jenny's desk. He opened one of the top drawers, removed all the clips from each weapon, and placed the guns in another drawer; he dumped Ziva's backup and knives in there as well. When he had finished he turned back to Jenny's assistant, who was looking more nervous by the second.

"Cynthia, you can just sit Officer David up against Jenny's desk and handcuff her arms around the desk leg, please." Nigel's voice was calm, as if he hadn't a care in the world. Cynthia looked worriedly at the explosive vest attached to Ziva and then back at Director Shepard. The red-head just nodded her head slightly and gave her assistant a sympathetic look, indicating that she should do as the man asked.

Cynthia swallowed down hard on her fear and went over to the woman lying listless on the floor; Ziva hadn't moved since she'd been unceremoniously dumped on the ground about ten minutes prior. Cynthia saw the blood oozing out of Ziva's leg and the odd angle of Ziva's left arm, knowing it was broken and probably hurt like hell. Putting her hands underneath Ziva's armpits, Cynthia tried to avoid touching any of the explosives attached to the vest Ziva was wearing. The secretary made a determined effort to be gentle as she slowly dragged Ziva's body across the floor towards the desk. Ziva's moans of pain reached her ears, as Cynthia couldn't help but jar Ziva's injured arm. After a few moments, Ziva's eyes fluttered open and she became aware of her surroundings. Cynthia was grateful that Ziva was now silent. Cynthia knew she was causing the other woman pain, but at least with Ziva awake, she was now trying to give Cynthia a look of encouragement, instead of whimpering softly in pain.

Cynthia helped Ziva to sit up against the back of the Director's desk. Looking directly into the foreign officer's eyes, she mouthed a quick, "I'm sorry," before locking the woman's wrists together around the desk leg with her own handcuffs. Ziva could hardly contain her grimace, as her face turned ashen, from her arm twisting behind her back. Gazing back at Cynthia, Ziva could see the assistant's eyes filled with unshed tears.

"Cynthia," the secretary's back stiffened, as Nigel spoke from directly behind her. She turned to find Ziva's gun back in his hand, the dead-man switch in his other. She noted with some satisfaction that his nose was obviously broken, so Ziva obviously didn't go down without a fight. Once he had her attention, he continued, "Remove Ziva's cell phone from her pocket and call Special Agent Gibbs. Tell him I have six hostages, including his Director, and that I would like your M.E., Doctor Mallard, to be sent up with his medical bag and some sutures."

* * *

Cynthia did as she was told and a few moments later out in the hall, Gibbs' caller ID read 'Ziva.' He quickly flipped open his cell phone. Tony and McGee were with him and hung on his every word.

"Gibbs."

"Agent Gibbs, it's Cynthia. The man, uh, Nigel, has six of us in here. He wants Doctor Mallard sent in with his medical equipment."

"Cynthia, how badly is Ziva hurt? Is anyone else injured?" Tony started leaning in close to Gibbs, worried sick about Ziva and wanting to know if she was okay.

"Just send in Ducky," was all he heard before an audible click in his ear. She had hung up. Gibbs made sure to have his composure back before turning to his two agents. "DiNozzo, go find Ducky and tell him to bring medical supplies. McGee, I need some way to see and hear inside that room, right now."

Tony scurried off to find their medical examiner, while Tim continued working on finding a way to get eyes and ears inside the Director's office. As Gibbs ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, the formally peaceful squad room erupted into movement, as DC Metro SWAT burst through the stairwell doors. Things were about to get a lot more complicated.

* * *

As soon as Cynthia had made the call, Nigel indicated that Cynthia should make herself comfortable on the floor, as he took a position half-sitting and half-standing, leaned up against the conference table. Cynthia took a seat next to Ziva and Jenny was proud of her assistant for how she was handling this situation. She was not trained for this and she had yet to become hysterical. If anything, Cynthia was conducting herself better than the agent sitting along the wall next to Jenny. Smith, Robert Smith, was his name, if Jenny recalled correctly. Much to her chagrin, the young agent had the most god-awful look of fear on his face and could not stop staring at all the explosives attached to Ziva's chest. The only time he looked away was to obsess over the switch in Nigel's left hand. At least the other two agents were holding it together from what she could tell, each of them had a grim look plastered on his face, but that was about it.

Jenny turned her gaze to Ziva next to see how she was holding up. She was slightly shocked to see Ziva with her head ducked down, trying to look at anything other than the man at the conference table. She had expected a quiet defiance from Ziva, but she appeared now to have the spirit sucked out of her, her body drawn in as much as possible in as much of a protective stance as she could muster in her current position. For his part, Nigel seemed rather amused by Ziva's behavior; Jenny supposed there must be more to this than she was currently seeing. After a few minutes of everyone in the room sitting silently, Jenny finally decided to see how much information she could gather about the mysterious man who was holding them hostage.

* * *

Out on the catwalk, Gibbs had insisted to the SWAT commander that he have some part in any negotiation or rescue effort, it was his people in there after all. The SWAT commander, Lieutenant Michael Rogers, was a former Marine and understood completely. He would allow Gibbs to help run the show, while his people swept the rest of the building for stragglers and anymore explosives.

Tony paced the hall furiously, while McGee was busy jury-rigging a camera to a small remote-controlled robot than he had swindled from the agents down in the cyber crimes basement. Ducky had recently joined everyone out on the catwalk and was awaiting Gibbs' approval to go into the room with his medical bag. Stepping up onto a maintenance ladder, Tim put the piece of duct-taped engineering into one of the vents above the hallway that, according to the blueprints of the building, would lead to the Director's office. Stepping down, he turned on a giant LCD monitor that Tony had acquired from the bullpen and double-checked the feed.

"Okay, boss, we're ready." McGee looked toward Gibbs with an expectant look on his face.

Gibbs stared his youngest agent down, raising his eyebrows slightly, "What are you waiting for then?"

McGee flustered slightly, "Uh, uh, nothing boss. Here we go." Each agent watched as the camera made its way silently down to the ducting of the building. After a few minutes and some finagling by McGee, a bird's eye view of the Director's office came into focus through the slats of an air conditioning vent. From the angle, everyone could clearly see Jenny and the three young agents sitting against the far wall, Ziva and Cynthia up against the back of the Director's desk, and who had to be their hostage-taker leaned up against the table in the middle of the room. From the angle, no one could make out his face; currently they had a good view of the back of his head.

Everyone appeared uninjured with the exception of Ziva, whose face was turning a nice shade of dark purple. Tony gut clenched and his face turned red in anger as he saw the blood all over Ziva's pant leg and the unnatural position of her arm; if he had his way, he was going to kill that bastard for doing this to her. Gibbs took one look at his senior field agent and knew that whoever their mystery-man was, he'd likely bitten off more than he could chew. Tony's gaze was alternating between concerned looks at Ziva and shooting daggers toward the back of the man's head.

Rogers moved up toward the screen and politely asked McGee if he could zoom-in on the bomb vest. "Hey, McNally," the police Lieutenant called down to one of his boys on the main floor, "I got something for you to take a look at." A sprightly, twenty-something, young man quickly took the stairs and a moment later was looking at the image on the screen.

"Whew," the young man whistled through his teeth, "that's gotta be almost fifteen kilos of C4, all wired into this charge of det cord in the center of the vest. There's also two trip wires at the top of the vest under each arm. See that little green light on the center of the vest," he said pointing. Seeing everyone nod their heads, he continued, "That means it's armed. Somebody said earlier, he's got a dead-man switch? Yeah, okay, he releases that, that light turns red and we all go boom."

Jenny's strong voice suddenly cut through the silence, "So, Nigel. What are you doing this for? You haven't made any demands yet, so what's the deal?"

"McGee, zoom back out," Gibbs instructed. They soon had a view of the entire room again.

Nigel's smooth voice drifted over the speakers, "Ah, Jenny, it is not about demands. In fact," he glanced at his watch, "in a little while, I will have accomplished my goal and more. So you just sit there, like a good little director, and shut up." Surprisingly, Jenny did as he said. "Now, where is Doctor Mallard? Cynthia, call Gibbs again, please. Let him know that if Doctor Mallard is not sent in within the next five minutes, one of these bright new agents will not live to regret it."

In the hall, Ducky was already moving toward the doors to the Director's outer office. A hand on his arm stopped him. "Ducky," Gibbs softly intoned.

"Jethro, I am going in there whether you like it or not. I will not be the reason one of those young men dies," the medical examiner had squared his shoulders, his medical bag in hand.

"I was going to say good luck," Gibbs said as he gave his old friend a brief hug. Just then, his cell phone went off. "Yeah, he's on his way in now."

As Ducky's hand clasped the door handle, Tony voice floated over to him from across the hall, "Ducky, take care of her. Please."

"Of course, Tony, of course." Ducky slipped through the doors and a moment later, a slight knocking was heard, and Ducky had entered the lion's den.

* * *

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	4. Chapter 4

Okay, I'm going to mess with the NCIS timeline a bit. "Broken Bird" happened after Jenny died, but I'm just going to take some liberties with that. Sorry this took so long to get out. Enjoy.

Part 4

"Please lock the door behind you, Doctor," Nigel instructed from his position at the conference table, briefly checking his watch. Ducky did as he was bid, juggling his bag into his left hand to secure the door. He glanced swiftly at Ziva, who was now leaned up against the back of Jenny's desk with her eyes closed. An "Oh, my," whispered from his lips and Ducky made to rush to the Israeli's side, when a cool voice stopped him.

"Doctor Mallard, you will care for my wound first and then you may attend to Officer David." With one more glance in Ziva's direction, Ducky found the offer reasonable considering the switch that Nigel was holding. He warily stepped to the conference table, where Nigel lifted up his shirt and clawed at make-shift bandages to reveal a deep puncture wound in his side, the wound still weeping blood.

Not normally a man of violence, Ducky found himself oddly pleased that Ziva had at least given this man some blows, although it was nothing compared to what he had done to her. He quickly banished these thoughts from his mind and moved his spectacles up on his nose before opening his medical bag to begin his work.

"It's been awhile since I've had a live patient to work on. This is going to sting," Ducky said as he wiped away blood and pus with antiseptic. He noted that the man barely flinched.

"I am quite aware of your profession, Doctor Mallard, but I'm sure I'm in more than capable hands." With a smug smile, Nigel made sure to make eye contact with Ducky before speaking again. "After all, a minor knife wound should be nothing for a man who patched up torture victims for years in Afghanistan."

Silence reigned as Ducky's hands stilled for moment before resuming their task. He had no response, so he continued to patch the man up. The cut looked more painful than life-threatening, so Ducky quickly stitched the edges of the wound together. He expertly wiped away the excess blood and applied a sterile bandage to Nigel's side, taping down only two sides to let the wound breathe.

"Now, may I attend to Ziva?"

Nigel lowered his shirt back down over the bandage. "You may. But I want my bullet back." Ducky blanched slightly; he was not really equipped to be doing minor surgery in the middle of the Director's office. "I can't be leaving my calling card just anywhere, now can I?" Nigel asked rhetorically. When Ducky still hesitated, Nigel's eyes and face hardened, but his voice remained calm. "Do it now or I will put a bullet in each of these young agents." He glanced over at the three young men sitting along the wall next to the Director. Agent Smith was white as a ghost.

Reluctantly, Ducky grasped his bag and moved to Ziva's side. She was slumped against the desk, semi-conscious. From the looks of her face, she probably had a concussion along with a broken cheekbone, if not a broken nose as well. Ducky's expert eyes took in the unnatural angle of her arm and decided it was broken in at least one place. Secured behind the desk-post as it was, he would be unable to do anything about it in the near future. He skimmed over the bomb vest, knowing nothing more than it didn't bode well for any of them if Nigel decided to release the trigger in his hand. Finally, he took in the crude bandages around Ziva's right thigh. A glance at Cynthia's blood-covered hands, it was clear she had administered first-aid as best she could, but some blood had soaked through.

Ducky set his medical bag down and knelt down to position himself over Ziva's leg. With one final glare in Nigel's direction, to which the man just shrugged, Ducky began to remove the make-shift bandages from Ziva's leg. "You did well, Cynthia. Now, if you are able, I'll enlist you as surgeon's assistant for the time being, if the Director doesn't have any objections, of course," Ducky said with a twinkle in his eye.

"Ducky, she's your assistant for as long as you need her. She's done splendid so far," Jenny said from nearby. Cynthia just shot him a slightly nervous glance, but nodded her assent anyway.

As soon as Ducky removed the soiled bandage, he had Cynthia hand him a set of scissors and began to gingerly cut away the edges of Ziva's pants to get better access to the wound. Ziva moaned in pain and opened her eyes. Spying Ducky, she smiled slightly and whispered his name.

"Ah, you're awake, my dear," Ducky said with his usual bedside manner and continued cutting away the cloth surrounding the bullet hole.

Semi-lucidly, Ziva gave a slight giggle, "You know, Ducky, you did not have to wait until I got shot to try to get into my pants."

Ducky looked up and smiled, glad to see her conscious and aware. "No worries, my dear, I am too much of a gentleman to take advantage of a beautiful woman in my care." Ziva just smiled. "I'm glad to see that your sense of humor is still intact; you are going to need it in the next few minutes."

The medical examiner reached into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of Extra Strength Tylenol; he tapped out two of the pills. "I apologize that I have nothing stronger to give you," Ducky apologized. "My patients are generally beyond needing pain killers." At Ziva's confused look, Ducky continued to explain. "Nigel wants me to remove the bullet from your leg. He…he wants it back."

Ziva glared at Nigel and he waved his hand with the detonator in it; he was in control of the situation and they both knew it. "Do what you have to do."

Ducky's face was grim, as he addressed the Director's assistant, "Cynthia, if you would, hold her leg just above the knee and pass me the forceps from my bag." Ziva let out a hiss at the pressure on her leg. As the cold metal of Ducky's forceps penetrated the open wound, Ziva's whole body tensed and her face turned ashen. As the medical examiner began to dig for bullet, Ziva's hands clenched and she gritted her teeth. She'd be damned if she gave Nigel any sort of pleasure by crying out. She aimed a glare in his general direction and was met with cold eyes and a look of smug satisfaction.

The forceps clamped around the slug and with a twist Ducky began to maneuver it. "Harah," was all Ziva said before her body relaxed and she lost consciousness. A moment later, Ducky triumphantly held the bullet with his forceps. Setting the bullet aside, Ducky quickly sterilized the wound and bandaged it, not wanting Ziva to lose any more precious blood than she already had.

Ducky held the small slug between his thumb and forefinger, Ziva's blood marring the metal surface. With effort, he raised his aged body off the ground into a standing position. With a look of disgust, the doctor deposited the bullet in Nigel's now outstretched hand.

"Don't worry, Doctor Mallard, everything has its purpose," Nigel said, as he placed the slug in pocket. "Your services are no longer required. You may leave."

Ducky stood up straighter and stated firmly, "I will not. Ziva is now my responsibility and I will not abandon my duty."

Nigel took a long pull of air through his nostrils and had a long-suffering look on his face. "I suppose I should not have expected you to go." He glanced down at his watch. He turned towards Jenny. "In a sign of good faith, Director, I will release your secretary. Cynthia, you may go. Doctor Mallard, if you would lock the door behind her."

Cynthia glanced at the director briefly before quickly exiting the door. Ducky shut and locked it behind her. The doctor gingerly lowered himself to the floor next to Ziva to check on her condition; she was slowly regaining consciousness.

Several hours passed silently with Nigel checking the time every so often. After Nigel glanced at his watch for the fifth time, Jenny had decided she was done with sitting around doing nothing. It was time to try again to get information if she could. Conversationally, she said, "So, Nigel, what's the story between you and Officer David. You haven't hurt anyone else so far and despite your threats, you've let a potential hostage waltz out that door and done nothing else."

Nigel gave a mirthless chuckle. "Ah, Madame Director," he glanced at his watch. "We do have some time to kill, so I will humor you." He glanced over at Ziva, noting her eyes were open and lucid. "Officer David is merely a bonus to this whole operation. My employers did not specify how I was to gain control of NCIS, so I took some liberties. I wonder, has Ziva told you of the night we spent together?" Seeing the slightly shocked look on Jenny's face and Ziva's body stiffen, he continued. "I'll take that as a no. Well, I'm sure it was a much better night for me than it was for her." To Ziva, he added in a mockingly-disapproving tone, "You really should be more careful who you take drinks from, Officer David." He turned a charming smile back towards the Director, "And you, Madame Director, should get better security. I know your gate guards are Marines, but they really should be more careful who they let onto a Naval base, especially in these dangerous times of domestic terrorism."

Silence reigned throughout the room. Jenny kept glancing between Ziva and Nigel, trying to process what he'd revealed. For her part, Ziva just looked ashamed. Nigel's face wore a cocky smile and he advanced upon the defeated Ziva to kneel down next to her by her injured leg.

"So, to answer your question Director," Nigel said in a more serious tone, "What the story is between me and Ziva? She was a convenient means to an end and she has served her purpose well. Sadly, my employers want to minimize the loss of life on this operation, otherwise Officer David would already be dead." Nigel's eyes hardened to cold dead orbs. "They didn't say anything about causing pain." Before anyone could react, the bang of a discharging weapon was heard.

* * *

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	5. Chapter 5

Part 5

The promenade outside of MTAC was completely silent as Nigel made his speech, revealing his previous encounter with Ziva and how he had managed to get inside NCIS. McGee's face showed utter surprise and after a quick glance at Tony's hardened expression and rage-filled eyes, he quickly found their computer set-up quite interesting. For his part, Gibbs looked almost completely unfazed, a raise of one eyebrow the only indication he had witnessed the oration.

Police Lieutenant Rogers finally broke the silence in the hallway, "Holy shit!" Looking at the three men next to him whose rapt attention was focused on the screen in front of them, he decided to keep any more comments to himself. While the NCIS agents continued to ignore him, Rogers called his bomb expert Bobby McNally back over to check up on the evacuation of the base. Besides the three men in front of Rogers, who refused to leave, the Yard was cleared and its personnel discreetly sent home. The jerry-rigged LCD screen on the catwalk grabbed Roger's attention again when he heard the distinct sound of a gun blast come over the speakers.

* * *

Ziva's whole body flinched in anticipation of a blow that never came. She opened her eyes to a cruel grin and a low chuckle emanating from the man kneeling next to her. In his hand, Ziva recognized her own weapon, as the acrid bite of gunpowder reached her nose. Beside her leg was a brand new smoking hole in Jenny's carpet.

Nigel gave her a patronizing look, saying, "Don't worry Officer David, I'm not that sadistic; I just have a rather sick sense of humor." Ziva refused to meet his eyes, staring at the carpet dejectedly instead.

Nigel let out another chuckle, this time genuinely amused. "Ah, Ziva, Ziva, Ziva." He shook his head and gave her a long-suffering look. Sighing, Nigel glanced at his watch and stood up. "Well, I would love to stay and chat, but it's time I really must be going." He holstered Ziva's sidearm for a moment to pull out a pocket knife, before moving over to the Director. Nigel swiftly cut the tie binding her feet and hoisted her up. He moved her up in front of him to act as a human shield. "Doctor Mallard, if you would open the door please?"

* * *

A few moments later, the men in the hallway, turned to see the Director of NCIS being marched out of her office. Nigel's arm was around her throat, his fingers still grasping the dead-man switch to the explosives. Five weapons were pointed at Nigel's head as he stepped out onto the promenade. "Now, now, gentlemen, play nice or we all go boom," he said, while waving the detonator for them to see. Gibbs gritted his teeth, but lowered his weapon all the same, the others quickly following suit.

Nigel edged past them, keeping the Director between him and several clearly angry men. As he reached the elevator at the end of the hall, he called back to them, "Don't follow me now, or it won't be good for you or the Director." The elevator doors slid open behind him. With a quick step backwards and the punch of a button, they were gone.

* * *

As soon as the office door had closed, Ziva spared a thought for Jenny before jumping into action. "Ducky, get your scalpel from your medical bag." When he had done as she bid and was kneeling in front of her, she continued, "Okay, see that little box with the two lights? I need you to pry off the top."

With the delicate hands of a surgeon, Dr. Mallard opened the box to reveal the multitude of wires coming from each block of C4, meeting together on a panel under the two lights. One light was already blinking green ominously, indicating the device was armed. Ducky breathed an "Oh, my," before looking up at Ziva expectantly.

"Shit, Ducky, get everyone out of here now." Ziva's brain was working in overdrive to try to decipher the bomb currently strapped to her chest. She looked up to see that no one had moved an inch. Sweat broke out on her forehead and a quiet desperation entered her voice. "Ducky, I need you all to leave right now," she pleaded. "I've never seen anything this complex and I don't know how to disarm it. There is also a trip wire rigged, so I can't take this vest off without it exploding. Get out of here, now!"

Ducky gave her good leg a small pat before he stood to his full height. He saw that Cynthia had freed each of the young agents and he herded everyone toward the door. For a moment, Ziva was left alone, handcuffed to the Director's desk with a bomb strapped to her chest. Seconds later, Tony burst through the heavy office doors, Rogers and McNally a step behind him.

Tony immediately went to Ziva's side to uncuff her from the desk, while Rogers and McNally went straight to work analyzing the bomb in front of them. Tony grasped Ziva's good hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. There was no way he was leaving her there to face this alone. The look on McNally's face was not one that beamed of confidence as he examined the explosives set before him. With a nervous gulp, he started butting wires, sweat breaking out on his forehead. Ziva's pain-filled eyes found Tony's and they stayed that way until Bobby McNally broke the moment between them. "Alright, I think that's it," he said, as he cut one last wire. Not a moment later, the second light blared a steady red. Every person in the room breathed a sigh of relief when nothing happened.

* * *

"Huh," Nigel said, as he looked curiously at the dead-man switch in his hand. "Guess they disarmed it. Ah, well, there's always the time and the back-up distraction." He reached into his pocket to pull out another switch, as he herded Jenny toward a waiting car. With a quick flick of his thumb, explosions resonated throughout the Navy Yard. As Jenny was shoved into the back of a non-descript black sedan, she turned to see the Naval Intelligence headquarters building go up in flames, while Gibbs and McGee made a futile run after the retreating vehicle.

* * *

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	6. Chapter 6

My information on the Glenmorangie scotch comes from K&L Wines, , since there is no way in the world I could ever afford to buy such an expensive bottle of scotch. Enjoy.

Part 6

Police bomb specialist Bobby McNally wiped sweat out of his eyes and leaned back on his heels. That was a close one, probably the closest call he'd ever had. He looked up at his boss, Lieutenant Rogers, and could see the look of utter relief written across his face. With no warning, an explosion rang out in the Navy Yard, the window in the Director's office shattering with the force of it. Glass showered the people still left in the room, while flames licked out from the burnt husk of the Naval Intelligence building.

"Shit," Lieutenant Rogers ground out between his clenched teeth, "McNally, you take care of this vest, I'll go handle the fallout." McNally gave a quick nod to his boss before Rogers was out the door to handle whatever chaos this latest development brought.

Tony helped carefully lay Ziva down on her back. McNally worked on removing the explosive vest from her, being mindful of her injuries. "Goddamn it," the bomb expert whispered under his breath, as he examined the explosive vest. His eyes met Ziva's pain-filled ones to inform her of what was coming next. "Okay, ma'am," at her angry look, he started again, "uh, I mean Ziva. I'm Bobby and we've deactivated the remote detonation capability on this bomb, but there are still trip wires wired throughout the vest. I know this is going to hurt, but the only we're getting this thing off of you is by sliding it off over your head."

"Just do whatever you have to do," she said, as she tried to steel herself for what was coming.

"Okay, Tony, let's sit her up." Tony moved behind Ziva to help her sit up, her left arm still dangling uselessly by her side. "Alright, Tony, I'm going pull the vest up and I need you to hold her left arm up, okay?" McNally instructed. "Ziva, can you hold up your right arm? Okay, good." Tony tried to be as gentle as possible as he lifted up Ziva's broken arm, but Ziva's face still went pale with pain and they both looked as if they might throw-up.

Bobby grasped the top of the vest with both hands and as carefully as possible moved the entire contraption up Ziva's arms and over her head. As soon as he had the vest off of her, he gingerly held the thing at arm's length. "Alright, Tony, Ziva, get the hell out of here. I've got this." McNally said confidently, but sweat was breaking out on his forehead, belying his words. The bomb he was currently holding was one of the most complex Bobby McNally had seen in his career. No scratch that; it was definitely the most complex setup he'd ever seen. He and Rogers had been damn lucky to have deactivated the remote detonator, but who knew what else that bastard Nigel had in store for them.

"C'mon, Ziva, now's not the time to get lazy on the job," Tony gave her one of his cheeky face-wide grins.

The look Ziva gave him would have withered a lesser man. She practically growled at him, "Well, help me up and let's blow this ice-cream stand."

"Unh, I think you mean, 'popsicle stand,'" he told her seriously, as he put her good arm around his neck and heaved her off the floor. "Damn, Ziva," Tony complained jokingly, when he took most of her weight. "You gotta lay off those breakfast burritos."

Ziva gritted her teeth as they headed out the door and toward the stairs. "Perhaps you should work out more." Tony just rolled his eyes. Behind him, he could see McNally walking slowly with the explosive vest held out in front of him, taking no chances.

They made it as far as the front parking lot, before an ominous steady 'beeeep' sounded from the explosives vest. Tony and Ziva turned around in time to see young Bobby McNally's terror-stricken face, the sheer panic in his eyes, before he was engulfed in flame. The explosion lifted the agents from their feet, tossing them like ragdolls to the hard pavement.

* * *

"You know, kidnapping the director of a federal agency won't go unnoticed," Jen said, conversationally.

Nigel just sat back in his seat, calm and collected. When he finally turned to look at her, his face showed his satisfaction with his most recent op. He took a second to study the woman in front of him. She was steely-eyed and determined that one. After a moment, he spoke, "Don't worry, Jenny, you're simply extra insurance for my safe passage. My employers and I have no interest in you, for the time being." The car came to a stop. "Now, if you don't mind, we'll be taking a little trip." He opened the door to the car, to reveal a hanger at a private airport Jenny didn't recognize. She didn't have much time to process anything before she was hauled out of the car and Ziva's Jericho was pressed into her side. An unmarked Gulfstream III sat idling in the hanger, two Rolls-Royce Spey turbofan engines rumbling and pouring out jet wash.

A set of stairs behind the cockpit took Nigel and Jenny into the luxury cabin, while a man in a jumpsuit closed the side door after them. Two pilots sat at the controls, oblivious to their two passengers, as they began taxiing the aircraft out of the hanger. Nigel closed the door to the cockpit and with a flick of his gun, bid Jenny to sit down on the plush leather couch lining one side of the cabin.

The Italian leather was soft under her weight, as Jenny sunk into the couch. "Where are we going, if I may ask?" Jenny questioned, as Nigel took a seat opposite her in a generously-sized Captain's chair, setting the Jericho on a table nearby. The engines thrummed louder, as the jet picked up speed. Jenny braced herself for the takeoff and within moments they were airborne, the plane groaning as the landing gear was brought up into the fuselage. Nigel just ignored her, while he explored the wet bar and began poured himself a drink.

"Oh, how rude of me. Would you like a drink Director? Glenmorangie, aged 25 years." He brought out another glass and poured a few ounces of the golden amber liquid into it. He carefully placed the glass into her bound hands. "I hope you enjoy it, at $900 a bottle, it is a rare pleasure indeed." He closed his eyes as he sniffed the pleasant aroma of the scotch, the scent of cherries, plums, and hedgerow blackberries melded with rich chocolate, coffee, and an undertone of icy wild mint assailed his nostrils. Nigel brought the glass to his lips for a small sip, fruity, spicy, and intense flavor notes washing through his mouth and burning down his throat.

Jenny's scotch rested untouched in her hand, "Where are we going?"

Nigel set aside his glass and leaned back into his chair. He regarded her thoughtfully before answering, "England, if you must know. Well, Farnborough really. It's got an 8,000 ft runway and there's no nasty customs to go through. I suggest you get comfortable, it's an eight hour flight."

With a resigned sigh, Jenny allowed herself sink back into the soft couch and regarded the honey-colored liquid in her hands. She let the smells of the richly-flavored scotch flow around her, before taking a small, delicate sip. She was not one to waste such an extremely rare and delectable single-malt, she thought, as the liquid filled her with an intense warmth and heady rush as strong alcohols are prone to do.

* * *

Please review, I hope to add the ending soon, but I've got a busy week coming up, so we'll see. But the more reviews, the more motivated I will be to write.


	7. Chapter 7

Part 7

Ziva opened the door to her apartment awkwardly. Her left arm was encased in plaster almost up to her shoulder, a brace surrounded her right leg, and she carried a crutch in her hand; the doctors hadn't let her leave the hospital without it. Tony had tried to accompany her back to her place, but she had insisted that she was fine and the look in her eyes had finally made him drop the issue.

She closed the door behind her, leaning her back against the heavy cedar finish. She tossed the bag of medications they had given her at Bethesda to the floor, the crutch quickly following, as she let herself slide to the ground. The pain in her body was nothing compared to the pain she felt at her complete failure; the Naval Intelligence building was no more, Nigel was in the wind, Jenny was with him, and a young police officer had lost his life. And it was her fault. She had no idea how she would face everyone in the morning. Gibbs had ordered her to take some time, but there was no way she was doing that now, not with Nigel still out there. Tomorrow was Sunday, but she expected that she wouldn't be the only back at the office trying to pick up the pieces. NCIS had been compromised and she had been the key to their undoing. She wouldn't be surprised if Jenny, assuming she got back alright, sent her back to Israel for this.

* * *

The persistent ringing of the telephone broke the silence of night in Ziva's apartment, waking her up groggily. The clock read 0311 on her nightstand; she had an hour left to sleep, not that that was going well, and decided to let the machine get it. She just didn't have the energy for a phone call.

"Ziva, may I call you Ziva?" Nigel's charming voice drifted through the apartment, waking Ziva up completely. "Anyway, thank you so much for your help earlier today. I do so apologize for shooting you. I do hope our next meeting is under more, uh, shall we say, pleasant, circumstances. Shalom, Ziva."

* * *

Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs had lived through some pretty crazy events in his time, but since joining NCIS had not experienced an attack so close to home. He'd also never lost a Director and Jenny was still MIA. He was already on his fourth cup of Starbucks. Thank God for the 24-hour place a few blocks away. He hadn't left all night and it was probably the only thing keeping him going. He glanced at his watch as he stepped off the elevator, 0500, so he shouldn't have been so surprised to see the shock of black hair peeking over the office dividers. Damn and he had ordered her to stay at the hospital too. That obviously hadn't lasted very long.

He glared at her a bit while walking past her desk and took in her appearance. She looked like shit. She was hard at work at her computer, probably trying to figure out who the hell Nigel really was, but it wasn't like he hadn't been doing that all damn night long. Her face was a bit puffy and her eyes bloodshot, but Gibbs recognized something he couldn't quite yet identify, regret, or guilt maybe in her gaze. He noticed she'd taken off the leg brace and he guessed she would have taken off the cast if she could have and she probably wasn't taking any of the pain medications the doctor had prescribed.

Gibbs went to his desk without a word and Ziva took this as a sign that at least he wasn't sending her back home yet. They each worked in silence for another hour before Tony showed up with coffee and breakfast for everyone, McGee coming in moments after. Finally, once McGee had settled in and each member of the team seemed to have settled in for the day, Ziva broke the silence.

"McGee, I need you to run a back-trace or whatever it is you do, on my home phone number. Nigel left a message at 0311 this morning," Ziva stated, as if it was business as usual. Tony and McGee's shocked looks told her perhaps it wasn't really as business as usual as she wanted it to be.

Gibbs just stood up angrily, before marching over to her desk. "And just when the hell were you planning on telling us this?"

"I just did, Gibbs."

Gibb's face showed he was about to blow up at Ziva, but Abby conveniently interrupted what was promising to be an epic chew-out, "Gibbs! Gibbs! You're not going to believe this. I can't even believe this happened. I mean, this is like completely insane!" Spotting Ziva, the goth quickly brushed past Gibbs to charge into a hug that made the Mossad officer grimace. "Oh, Ziva, I'm so glad you're alright. I wanted to hang around last night, but they evacuated everyone, well besides you and all the other hostages and Gibbs, McGee, and Tony…" Abby babbled on.

Gibbs put his hands on Abby's shoulders to ground her after she'd finally released Ziva, "What've you got for us, Abs?"

"Oh, right," she began sheepishly, but quickly launched into her news. "All of our servers on the network have been wiped clean, meaning we've lost all of the data from the past week and whatever had not been backed up before that. Normally, the data is backed up every Sunday evening automatically to the permanent data stores, which are thankfully intact."

"In English, Abs," Gibbs demanded.

"Um, basically, anything logged into the computer from the past week is gone. And it gets worse; all the evidence in the evidence garage from the past week has either been destroyed or taken."

McGee, who'd been typing away furiously on his computer, chimed in, "Boss, she's right, it's all gone. I can't access any of our case files from the last week."

"McGee, keep running that trace. Abby, is there any way to fix this?"

"Um, not unless you can go back in time and prevent it from happening, no. I'm sorry, Gibbs."

"Alright, well, we'll go with what we've got. Keep working people."

* * *

Around two in the afternoon, NCIS Director Jenny Shepard waltzed into the bullpen wearing the same pantsuit from the previous day and looking thoroughly exhausted. She set down the Jericho 941 on Ziva's desk, "Nigel thought you might like this back," and left to her office without another word. Gibbs followed close on her heels. Jenny made it as far as stepping inside her office door before waiting for Gibbs to catch up. Nothing had changed from yesterday, Ziva's blood still marred the carpet floor and the zip ties used to bind Nigel's hostages were scattered about. A cool breeze entered the office from the shattered window.

"Do you want a drink, Jethro?" Jenny pulled out a bottle of Jameson Irish whiskey from a cabinet and grabbed two glasses. "What the hell happened here?" She asked rhetorically, before knocking back the stiff drink.

Gibbs just contemplated the glass he held in his hand before answering. "I don't know, Jen, but I'm sure as hell going to find out. Now, what happened to you? You don't look too much the worse for wear."

Jenny poured herself another drink and moved to the couch. She waited for Gibbs to sit down next to her before answering his question. "I was just insurance for Nigel's safe passage. We flew in a private jet to Farnborough Airport outside London, at which point he left, had the plane refueled, and had the pilots fly me back here. He's god-knows-where by now." She threw back another drink. "I will say this, he definitely has good taste in scotch."

* * *

Okay, this one's complete. There will definitely be a sequel. Please review. Thanks.


	8. Author's Note

Author's Note July 12, 2010:

It seems I'm only inspired to write when I'm on long car trips, but I've written about 20 or so pages of a sequel to More Than Bargained For and should be updating it to shortly. I haven't finished it yet, but it's getting there. I've also made a few small changes to MTBF, mainly changes to Nigel and Ziva's relationship. Basically, Ziva's a little less pissed and just more defeated about the situation. Also, I took out the whole Ziva's dad killing Nigel's family, that just won't fit really well with where the sequel is going. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed MTBF and more should be coming soon.

Flygirl


	9. Preview

Here's a preview for the continuation of "More Than Bargained For." I'm still working out a few kinks, but I should have the full first chapter up in the next few days. Still working on the title too. Enjoy.

* * *

Special Agent Tony DiNozzo walked deliberately over to NCIS' "Most Wanted" wall. He briefly looked over the faces he knew so well, criminals and terrorists all. On the far end of the wall, Tony affixed a new photo with masking tape; along the bottom he had scrawled "Nigel."

* * *

Leroy Jethro Gibbs leaned on the balcony railing, his standard Starbucks coffee in hand, studying his agents. The Sunday was almost done, the sun already having gone down. Earlier in the day, he'd sent McGee and Tony to Major Lincoln's apartment to see if there was anything of note there. Everything seemed to have been in order there. The Major's workplace was no longer viable, seeing as the whole building had been demolished. They were still awaiting the autopsy from Ducky and really had no new leads yet. So now, the team was working two cases simultaneously: Lincoln's and Nigel's. Not that they had much to go on for either one. Right now, it was only Gibbs' famous gut that said they were connected at all.

McGee was typing madly on his keyboard, several programs running in the background. One was a facial recognition program, running Nigel's face against every database available. The young agent kept looking up every few minutes to cast worried glances at his companions. Tony was leaned back in his chair, attempting to accomplish something on his own computer. Mostly though, he was looking at Ziva, concern and worry etched across his face. There was none of the teasing or easy banter that usually existed between them. There was a stillness in the air that seemed as if it could be upset by a pin drop.

Gibbs took more time to study the lone female member of his team. In short, she looked like shit. A sling and cast encased her left arm, a brace on the right leg, a crutch discarded at the back of her cubicle. Even from the balcony, Gibbs could see the break in skin and slight dent in her nose where it was broken; blood in her right eye from a fractured cheekbone. Gibbs knew there to be more injuries, the worst of which were probably not physical. If asked how she was, the response would most likely be a curt "fine" and a redirect. Looking closer, Gibbs could see pain lines on Ziva's face and her jaw clenching and unclenching, almost unnoticeably if he wasn't looking for it. She looked exhausted and was no doubt not taking any of the pain medication prescribed to her. If he had to guess, she was punishing herself for the events of the previous day. He had an idea, somewhat, of the guilt and blame she was probably putting on herself in that brain of hers.

The older man took a long pull of his Marine-grade coffee and noticed Tony looking up at him. The look on Tony's face spoke volumes to the team leader. Gibbs' team was bent, but not yet broken, if they could keep their Mossad Liaison Officer from self-destructing. She was drawing within herself, shame and self-hatred eating at her very soul.

It would be a long road back to normalcy. If nothing else, the fact that Tony was able to just watch Ziva openly, with no comment or her sneaking up on him, was enough to worry Gibbs to no end. He'd never seen her not bounce back.

One last sip from the coffee and he stood back from the railing. He would need to prepare her for what was to come. This would not die down easily. At the very least, an internal investigation was in store. It would not go well for Ziva if she didn't stop blaming herself completely for yesterday's events. Gibbs tossed his empty coffee cup in the trash; there was no time like the present to do what needed to be done if he wanted to keep his team together and time was in short supply.

* * *

More to come, soon, I promise.-Flygirl.


End file.
